


Beacon On The Mountain

by Millennium_Fae



Series: Masked And Unmasked [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Binary OC, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millennium_Fae/pseuds/Millennium_Fae
Summary: "At eighty-four, Teldryn was reaching the end of his prime. He couldn’t be a mercenary forever, and Dunmer elder years are long. But Auðr in comparison was …. damn, how old is Auðr? He could never tell with humans; Auðr wasn’t wizened or hunchbacked, but were they a young human? Skutt, if Auðr was a mere child, then how could Teldryn possibly involve himself now? Dare he outright ask Auðr their age? Is that odd? But what wasn’t odd at this point?"





	Beacon On The Mountain

The ruckus was completely disorienting. Skaal scrambled around, yelling at each other and crowding around the mutilated body of Storn in the roaring winter blizzard. Teldryn couldn’t see past the mass of fur-clad Nords as they demanded answers from a distraught Frea and irate Fanari. 

And nowhere to be found was Auðr, Teldryn’s latest and most troublesome patron.

Where they previously stood, one of the terrible Black Books lay open-faced. The last thing Teldryn remembered was a horrific mass of dark green appendages impaling Storn clear through his skull, and Auðr being swept into its pages once again. The whole affair ended before any bystanders could collect their thoughts.

This whole Daedric business was a huge and awful mess, in Teldryn’s mind. But he wasn’t being paid to pass judgement.

But never did he anticipate himself involved with Auðr, the legendary Dragonborn themselves. What chance existed that the living Nord legend decide to enter the pub of a failing mining settlement to delve into the mystery of dread Dragon Priests, mass magic enslavement, Telvanni wizards, and the charming devil himself, Hermaeus Mora?

And of course, Teldryn was the mercenary chanced to offer his services.

Auðr gave a good impression, at first. Any good freelancer can’t afford to be no less than discriminating when it comes to their clientele. Teldryn had learned long ago to make sure that a customer could keep up their pay without attempting to scam Teldryn of his service. And a client needed to be tolerable company at the very least, being open to Teldryn’s (professional) opinion. He had enough history of would-be-patrons who tried to wrangle the fee, or were otherwise a nightmare to work with - Teldryn couldn’t afford to frazzle his nerves shot to ends by playing nursemaid to a client who had no sense of self-preservation.

Well, except for one exception, he supposed.

But Heindrick was special for many reasons. He happily paid almost double Teldryn’s demand, possibly knowing how haggard Teldryn was being forced to keep up with the beast of a Nord. The pay alone was enough for Teldryn to stick by his side. 

And within three weeks, Teldryn felt tied to Heindrick for more reasons than his money. He couldn’t pinpoint when those feelings arose, but one evening in particular stood significant in Teldryn’s memory; it was early evening, and the two had taken a brief rest upon a fallen tree in preparation for their dinner hunt. Heindrick was repairing the leather ties upon his boots, while Teldryn calibrated his bowstrings. In the midst of the repair, Teldryn let his eyes wander to Heindrick’s facial tattoos out of mindlessness. 

Unknowingly, Teldryn took in the sight of the strange, swirling blue sigils that lined Heindrick’s weathered and bearded face. Heindrick suddenly met his eyes, and Teldryn started in surprise upon realizing his staring. But Heindrick seemed pleased, and gave one of his wolf-like grins. “Taking in the view, elf?” 

Teldryn rolled his eyes, the gesture clear without his ever-present helmet. “Just wandering my eyes.”

Heindrick flipped his long yellow hair behind his shoulders with a jerk of his head, allowing more of the tattoos to show. Teldryn saw that they stretched below the corner of his jaw and down his neck, wrapping around to stop atop the shoulderblade. The patterns grew more elaborate the farther down it went, and Teldryn realized that the flowing ribbons that cradled Heindrick’s sharp cheekbone largely stemmed from an intricate geometric diamond sigil upon his lower neck, near the collarbone.

“This is Shor,” Heindrick raised a finger to trail the beginning of the blue upon his face, and traced it to the diamond sigil. “And here his Thu’um stretches.” He continued the trail to the pattern upon his upper back, which on second glance resembled the jagged impression of a snake.

Teldryn narrowed his eyes. “Shor? Your name for Lorkhan?”

“Aye, Shor our Savior. Usurper of the Dawn War.” Heindrick leaned back against the log with his hands. “Our father in Sovengarde.”

Teldryn had grown in a world that described Lorkhan as the adversary that leads Mer astray. Lorkhan had betrayed the heavenly Aldmeri and created mortality, forever robbing souls of their right to the everlasting spirit realm. Because of Lorkhan’s trickery, Mer lost their relationship with the heavens. And Lorkhan exists today in temptations of foiling Mer’s reconciliation with their faith and homeland.

But to many humans, Lorkhan was their father creator. Men were baptized in the blood of the murdered gods, and their faith relies on the desire to return to Lorkhan’s afterlife army.

Needless to say, the more faithful Mer of Tamriel aren’t impressed with Lorkhan, or humanity as a whole. Teldryn himself never had strong feelings either way, but the name Lorkhan remains a sour word. To see Mer’s adversary etched upon Heindrick’s face is … a sight.

Teldryn eyed the snake zig-zagged across Heindrick’s skin with a subtle disdain. The idea of Lorkhan has savior was novel to him.

Heindrick didn’t miss the slight venom in Teldryn’s gaze. “What, don’t tell me that mere tattoos could affect your sensibilities, elf.”

Teldryn averted his eyes and returned to fletching his bow. “Lorkhan is no hero to my people. His image stands for all who sin against the Tribunal. I never considered men would revere him.”

Teldryn didn’t hear a response from Heindrick. So he raised his gaze and met Heindrick’s trademark sharp grin, showing pointed canines.

“Exactly. Us humans, we are your usurpers. Leading you away from the flock.” Heindrick said.

A pause, and then Teldryn couldn’t help but return Heindrick’s rueful smile with one of his own. The first smile Teldryn had ever cracked in his presence.

After that day, Heindrick grew to weigh heavy on Teldryn’s heart. But it wasn’t until Teldryn would lose Heindrick did any indication come that the Nord felt the same.

And by then, it was far too late.

Several months later, Teldryn stood in the frozen, snow-capped hamlet of Skaal village, eyeing one of those dreadful books open-faced on the ground, and couldn’t help but be awash with grief fearing that he had made the same mistake twice.

Humans lead Mer astray indeed.

* * *

 

“That can’t be good for you,” Teldryn said dryly, as Auðr once again opened a giant Black Book, spectral chains wrapping themselves around their necks in a sickly green glow.

The chains remained for a few seconds, before melting away. Auðr blinked once, twice, and shook themselves. They turned to Teldryn with glazed eyes.

“You’re still here?”

 “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re lucid at all. Those things are wicked.”

Auðr’s gaze remained dazed as they shoved the giant book into their knapsack. “I’ve dealt with worse, Teldryn. But if my brains start leaking out of my ears, you’ll be the first to know.”

Teldryn shivered at the mental image, but hid his revulsion as the two gathered to finally venture out of the tomb. With each step, Auðr seemed to regain their awareness, and soon walked with their regular confidence.

“What do you gain from these books, anyways? What does Hermaeus Mora offer that’s worth those awful chains and iron-clad collar?”

“When I open each book, I find myself in his domain,” Auðr responded. “It may take hours, but I find a new Shout that allows me to free those trapped amongst those dreadful Stones. Hermaeus Mora only allows a bit of knowledge each time. Eventually, perhaps at his whim, I shall know how to defeat Miraak.” Auðr patted the knapsack that held the Black Book. “I applaud you for standing vigilant while I remain under Hermaeus Mora’s influence.”

“It doesn’t take hours,” Teldryn said. “On my end, I see you enthralled for perhaps a minute at longest.”

Auðr struck a double-take at that, and stared wide-eyed at Teldryn in surprise. But Teldryn’s silent response answered Auðr’s questions.

“... I see,” Auðr said quietly, and spoke no more.

The two returned to Raven Rock for the night, after cleansing the All-Maker Stone on the way. As usual, Auðr took one bed of the rented room at The Retching Netch, while Teldryn the other on the opposite end. The Black Book was stacked upon the other three, adding to their pile of published ethereal heresy. In the dark, Teldryn eyed Auðr’s twitching body as they winced their way through nightmares. 

At least Auðr had freed Raven Rock from the nearby Stone a week before, allowing them some sleep instead of an exhausting night of bewitched slavery. At the cost of something Auðr suffers where Teldryn couldn’t follow. 

 

* * *

 

This time, it wasn’t mere minutes. Auðr had outright been taken into the green jaws of the Black Book itself, and five hours of painful anticipation had so far brought no sign of Auðr returning.

During that time, the Skaal had removed Storn’s body, placing him in the nearby Great Hall and covered with a leather sheet. Fanari, the chief, had interrogated Frea and Teldryn remorselessly; apparently, Storn had acted without Fanari’s permission, and gave Hermaeus Mora the Skaal’s secret knowledge behind her back. Frea, while distraught, fiercely maintained that Storn suspected Fanari would not approve of the deal, and that the decision had to be made too quickly for real deliberation.

Fanari had tried to get answers from Teldryn, but he knew less than anyone here. Plus, he was hardly in the mood to be cooperative. All he could bear was sitting at a wooden bench nearby the book, still left lying open in the blood-stained snow.

He couldn’t grasp the situation. It all seemed so vast in scope, very different from his usual, staightforward way of living. Fight, get paid, manage a nomad lifestyle. And repeat, with the occasional day off for a splurge on some good drinks.

A good mercenary stood professional in the face of absolute disaster. Sudden sandstorm and all your supplies have been lost in the twisted ruckus? Just wait it out in the shadow of a dune, and get new ones. About to faint after days spent hungry and lost? Dig up some insects for emergency nutrition and plow on. Snow bear grabbed your leg and is trying to tug you into the freezing water to drown? Deep breaths, and pound on its face repeatedly until it decides to find a meal that didn’t have such sass. 

A Black Book that spoke of eternal slavery was no snow bear. This was an eventuality that Teldryn couldn’t possibly prepare for.

But when Auðr hired him, Teldryn didn’t exactly have a choice. Like it or not, he was now involved in the Dragonborn’s divine struggles.

And at first, it seemed far from a disaster. In fact, it was rather fun. The two of them tackled rare challenges that Teldryn found a great exercise of his combat prowess. And Auðr seemed to be having fun too, being a first-time visitor to Solstheim and confronted with beasts they have never seen. For Teldryn, a month spent on this island had proved dreadfully dull with no one to hire him aside from the odd traveler. And Auðr’s awe at seeing a Stilt Rider for the first time couldn’t help but draw some sentiment from Teldryn.

Auðr had promised that this whole Miraak drama will be over soon. They were close to finding his lair, and from there the liberation of Solstheim. Teldryn, ever the proper hired sword, simply nodded and followed Auðr’s footsteps forward.

Lost in his thoughts, Teldryn started when Frea sat down besides him. He looked at the girl - her eyes were mired with sorrow, but no tears. His previous encounter with Frea proved that she was a given Nord warrioress with nerves as solid as stone. Teldryn wished he could mimic her stability.

“They will return,” Frea declared with no preamble. 

Teldryn didn’t respond, and merely turned his gaze away. 

“Elf,” Frea continued, and Teldryn allowed her to continue, “Auðr will see this through to the end. I know it in my soul.”

It seemed a bold claim with no proof. But Frea’s calm voice seemed a promise. Teldryn is reminded of the Elder Priests of Blacklight, and their role of renewing faith amongst the troubled. They never had any proof for their reassurances, but that wasn’t their job.

Frea will be a good Shaman, Teldryn thought privately. 

“Hermaeus Mora doesn’t take betrayal lightly. He has every reason to aid Miraak’s demise,” Teldryn said aloud, his voice muddled from being silent for so long.

“You are correct, but I sense that’s not your worry,” Frea observed. And Teldryn couldn’t help but grow defensive upon realizing that Frea must suspect there was more between them than a working relationship. “I had heard what you said about the dread Mother Spriggan near our village. You detest enslavement, even the mere suggestion of it. You worry about your friend being caught in Hermaeus Mora’s clutches even after Miraak’s defeat.” Frea’s hand twitched, as if she briefly considered resting it upon Teldryn’s in an act of comfort. “But your friend walks with the All-Maker in pursuit of righteousness. They have defeated the World-Eater in Sovngarde, and won the favor of the heavens in the battle against the vampires. They shall not allow themselves to end in Hermaeus Mora’s grasp. Not after everything.”

Teldryn listened, and felt the iron grip around his gut loosen a fraction. Frea’s gaze did indeed suggest that she knew of Teldryn’s hidden feelings, which worried Teldryn about how obvious he’s been all this time. But in the light of current events, he can’t help but be grateful for Frea’s observance.

After a stretch of silence, Teldryn opened his mouth, “Thank yo-”

A sudden loud _crack_ reverberated through the air, and a bent, smoking figure toppled into the snow in front of them. The force of its abrupt appearance tripped themselves, and they landed face-first into the ground.

Both Frea and Teldryn shot up, running at the figure and turning them over. Auðr met their worried faces, bruised and battered, but alive.

“Auðr!” Teldryn cried, shaking their shoulder. “Auðr, say something.”

Auðr winced at his rough handling, their eyes half-lidded. “...hello, Teldryn.” They croaked.

Teldryn let out a long-suffering sigh. Frea sprang into action and scooped her arms under Auðr’s, lifting them into a sitting position. Other Skaal rushed over, with cries of, “They’re back! They’ve lived!” “So is Miraak dead?” “Have you defeated him?” “So Storn’s sacrifice was worth it, then.”

Frea and Wulf began examining Auðr for injuries, finding several cuts and a few cracked ribs. Auðr managed to stand themselves, and Wulf helped them into the Shaman hut while Teldryn followed.

Inside, it was graciously warm and Teldryn realized just how cold he was. Auðr was led into a cot of furs, and Wulf went to prepare some poultices and bandages. Teldryn approached, tentative after such a long ordeal of doubt and worry.

“What happened?”

Auðr shook their head upon their pillow, their eyes closed and blue with tiredness. Teldryn wanted to know exactly how damned Auðr was, but it seemed he had to wait.

“We will discuss it tomorrow,” Auðr whispered. “Just let it be known that things are safe for now. 

“Miraak is dead, then?”

“Yes. And his reach across Solstheim has been purged. All can rest easy, now.”

Teldryn sighed. Perhaps so, but it wasn’t that simple. The story does not end here. And as his luck would have it, Auðr would have him involved in the mess afterwards.

Although, Teldryn realized with a start, perhaps Auðr would be done with him now. Perhaps upon his recovery the next morning, Teldryn would be given his heaping bag of gold coins as payment, and sent on his way back to Raven Rock as Auðr left forever, to continue their story elsewhere. And that would be the last they’d ever see of each other. 

It would end like last time. Always, he was too late. Too late to …. He didn’t even know.

“Auðr … “ Teldryn said softly, and Auðr turned their head slightly in response. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Teldryn said.

Auðr, half-asleep already, gave a small smile that spoke volumes. “So am I, Teldryn.”

**Author's Note:**

> A continued story from the previous 'Last Patron' drabble, where Teldryn continues his legacy of Complicated Relationships With Nord Clientele. Auðr the Dragonborn will one day win Teldryn's affections, but there's a bit of a ways to go before that sourpuss opens up.  
> \---  
> Teldryn's musings on Dunmer religion is based off of the brief insight we see with the temple in Raven Rock, where apparently the current temple has swung very much in lieu of something more faith-based. The True Tribunal as described by Elder Othreloth are the Daedric princes, while the false Tribunal (words of the Anticipations) were prophets and philosophers of what Morrowind (and beyond) means to the Dunmer people. It reminds me of the breach between spiritual faith as a belief, and faith as a cultural tie to your homeland and your people's heritage. 
> 
> It makes sense that Raven Rock is written to be very faithful, which is important to the struggling town in times of hardship. A known unfaithful person, Aphia the wife of old man Crescius, has a better opinion of the Tribunal and we see her unwilling to take her husband's word over her worry for his safety.
> 
> For Teldryn, he'd be along the same lines. I headcanon Teldryn as a Dunmer very much in ties with his heritage. Not out of national superiority, but largely because he isn't as comfortable being a wandering sellsword as he thinks he is. Which is why his musings about settling down in Riverwood speaks volumes about his true wishes.
> 
> Stay tuned for eventual loving, Skyrim style!


End file.
